


Crimson Sky: The Eternal Sunset

by CierraLexington



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen, High Fantasy, Original Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-06-21 01:30:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15546624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CierraLexington/pseuds/CierraLexington
Summary: The sun goddess Asta Zura has been swallowed by the Netherbeast. The royal family is dead. Twilight has descended upon the world and hell beasts roam. Lark, suddenly cut adrift from everything he has ever known, follows the call of a magical pearl in the hopes of finding some way to free the captured goddess and escape the maw of the Netherbeast.A novelization of my custom Pathfinder campaign.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! Constructive criticism is appreciated. 
> 
> Co-author credit to my DM, C. Parker. 
> 
> If you like what you read and want more of my originals, follow me on Twitter or find me on Wattpad, 4thewords.com, or paperdemon.

The old man tottered to the front of the inn room. The layered sounds of a happy crowed eating and talking slowly quieted as he settled into a rocking chair set beside the fireplace just for him. His grizzled beard, shot through with streaks of black and silver, quivered as he took a drink to wet his throat. The children who had accompanied their parents on this special holiday rushed to the front, settling into tailor's seats on the floor at his feet. The firelight highlighted their innocence for the old timer. He smiled at them, blinking his blurry eyes. Every time this holiday came around, he thanked Asta Zura that he had lived to see their young faces shining up at him. He set his tankard to the side, a signal to all watching that he was about to start his tale. The traditional opening lines poured from his lips and his warm deep voice filled the inn room "Listen to this tale, old as the air and new as baby's breath. Listen, child and ancient, to this story of the End of Days." He looked around the room, grateful again for this chance, possibly his last chance, to tell the tale as he had lived it. "Lark Hayward, as he was known then, was a common man, born of uncommon heritage. The achievements he would have reached in his life could have been unsurpassed, if the sun hadn't been eaten. Our blessed Asta Zura, sun goddess and bringer of Life, had been consumed by a monster of the hell realm, known as the Netherbeast. In these dark twilight hours of the end of days, I start our story." 

~~~

Lark headed toward the kitchens to beg a snack from the mistress who ran things there. The smells of baking bread and succulent meat dishes wafted through the air for several hallways before he ever saw the door to the kitchen. He'd been studying hard with his mentor Airech Gangrenge, the famous scholar and mage. Decorated by the King and Queen for his services to the realm, it was an honor to be given even a few minutes of his time. Lately, Lark had gotten more of his mentor's time than ever before. The more time he spent with the old man, the more surly Master Gangrenge became. Park of Lark worried that it was related to his studies or to something he had done, but the old man would occasionally reassure him that the pressure that the Master was struggling under was from something else. Lark was starting to worry about the old man's health, and frankly about the state of his mind. Master Gangrenge was once an active man, roaming the halls full speed, or as fast as an 80-something year old human can go, and speaking with everyone he came across. A friendly man, well liked by people at every echelon of power, it frightened Lark that he'd found his Master staring out of his window almost every day recently. 

He shook his head to clear his worries, his light brown hair was damp with sweat from his studies with Master Gangrenge and stuck to his high forehead. The dark locks were a stark contrast to his pale skin. He tumbled lightly down the last few stairs to the kitchen with the fluidity of a young athlete. He stepped through the side entryway and stepped off to the side so he could pause and take a deep breath. He loved the kitchens. The savory scent of the roasted boar on the spit over the fire, hunted earlier that morning by his older brother, wafted through the air mingled with the scents of fresh baked bread. Fresh baked bread was a luxury that Lark fully appreciated. In fact, he deserved a bit of that bread after working so hard that morning. He stepped out from next to the door and crossed the kitchens with long strides. The servants ducked and dodged his approach with practiced ease. It was well known that he appreciated their skills. He said so, loudly, at almost every meal. 

"Mama Alma!" He called, his rich baritone floating across the kitchen. The head of the kitchens stood next to stewpot, testing its contents. The new potboy looked on nervously. 

"Mama Alma!" He called again. Mama Alma, turned to look in his direction and the fire's light highlighted her surprisingly thin frame. He'd heard once to never trust a skinny cook, but he trusted Mama Alma with his life. Quite literally since she was in charge of what he ate most days. Her black hair was held back by a handkercheif and twisted into a sweaty bun at the base of her neck. She stood a head taller than the new potboy, but that barely came to Lark's chest. The only part of her body that fit the expected look of a cook was the area right around her hips. If Lark were an older man, or Mama Alma a younger woman, he'd appreciate her figure in more than one way. But alas, she would always be Mama Alma to him. Almost a second mother, watching over him as he toddled around ignored by his older brothers and sister. The youngest of his family, he didn't have the same expectations on his life as the others did. 

She waved a wooden spoon in greeting then nodded at the sideboard loaded with different breads. He could feel his mouth watering at the mere thought of the crackling crust. He followed her suggestion with relish, selecting a loaf of bread about a foot long and five inches around. He held it up to just under his nose and inhaled slowly and deeply. The warm scent of the glazed crust made him drool rather unappealingly. He cracked the loaf in half and smelled the wheaty inner bread, it's scent softer but much more moist. He grinned a devilish grin and bit heartily into the half he held in his right hand. 

Mama Alma chose just that moment to approach of course. "My stars Master Lark! Where have you been these last few days! All cooped up with Master Gangrenge. It's not healthy. A young man like yourself needs to take a breath and move around, not rusting sitting about reading those dusty old books." 

Lark grinned through his bite, " 'buh Moma Alma, if I don't work hard, however will I be able to enjoy this delicious food without becoming fully round?" Crumbs tumbled down his shaven chin and dusted his silk doublette. 

Mama Alma swatted him playfully with her wooden spoon, "Oh go on with you!" her playful expression melted away, replaced by one of deep concern. "No joking now boy, what keeps you holed up there with Master Gangrege all the time. I haven't seen his face in my kitchens or at my tables in weeks. The serving girls say he doesn't touch the food I send up for him." Her face turned sad, "I worry for him, my lad. Is he facing the dark days?"

Lark hurried to reassure her that despite his advanced age, his mentor was still strong of mind, even as he doubted it himself. "He stresses about some cosmic event, Mama Alma, but his mind is just as sharp as ever. He keeps me hard at work learning all he says I need to know." He gave a full body shiver, "By the time he's done with me, Mama, I'll know a little of just about everything. He keeps me on a topic just long enough to make sure I understand it before he's ripping that book away and replacing it with another." 

The half loaf in his right hand was gone, so he started making progress on the half in his left hand. Mama Alma didn't like seeing empty hands in her kitchen and set him to stirring a soup pot nearby while she filled him a mug of a mild ale to wash down the crumbs. "He's even taken away my time with Armsmaster Tyrendel!" he whined as he gave the soup an extra strong stir. "It's not that I particularly enjoy being swatted with wooden swords all afternoon and running hither and yon, but at least it's a change from the library's stuffiness." He took a long drink from the ale she handed him. "Lately all I'm doing is reading and being quizzed to test my comprehension." he set the empty mug on the table next to him and it was whisked promptly away by one of the kitchen workers. Mama Alma insisted on cleanliness. "I've barely seen my family these last few weeks!" 

Mama Alma glanced away, "Not many have, Lark."

He gave her a questioning glance. 

She half shrugged and started slicing the bread, keeping her hands busy while she talked. "No one has seen hide nor hair of any of your family in days. They're all of them caught up in meetings. It's making the staff nervous. They take comfort from seeing them all the time. When they keep to themselves it makes the people wonder that maybe something is going on that should worry us." She looked at him questioningly. 

He answered her glance with a shrug. "I only know that there's some rare convergence in the constellations that Master Gangrenge is spending all of his time studying. He's kept me so cooped up that this is the first I've heard of this." He dusted crumbs from his hands. "If it'll make you feel better though, I'll go see if I can track one of them down and let you know what's going on. I don't like it when you worry. When you worry, the bread burns." He cheekily nudged her with an elbow and she waved the towel she constantly kept on her shoulder at him. 

"I would appreciate it if you could, Master Lark. Not for my sake, but for the girls and lads of course." She finished the last of the loaves and loaded them onto large trenchers to accompany the noon meal for the soldiers in the barracks. 

Lark hugged her with one arm around her shoulders, "For you, Mama Alma, I'd do most anything." He kissed top of her head affectionately and turned to go. Two steps away from her he turned back, "You know though, they could be in meetings. It could take awhile. A young man could practically starve tracking down family members." He put on his best puppy dog eyes and begged. 

She laughed as she packed a string bag with two loaves of break, a large chunk of cheese, and some smoked sausage. It was enough to last a common man for days. Lark worried it wouldn't last him long enough to make it to dinner. "Scat with you, you rascal. Growing boys always eating my cupboards bare!" 

Lark took the string bag and swung it over his shoulder, blew a kiss, and strode confidently back into the depths of the stonework building in search of one of his older brothers. They always knew what was going on in the kingdom. 

If he'd known that was the last time he'd see Mama Alma, he might have told her just how much she meant to him. But he didn't. 

 

He spent the next hour and a half trying to locate even one member of his family. But every time he thought he’d located one, he was told they’d moved to a new meeting. He’d been joking when begged the bread from Mama Alma, but as he leaned on a window ledge and snacked on his bread and sausage, he mused about how useful it was. He looked down into the court yard where his friends were sweating under the critical eye of Armsmaster Tyrendal. He quirked a smile at their misfortune. As hard as it had been to labor through Master Gangrenge’s tough lessons, it was better than getting all beat up. 

He watched as they paired up to practice overhand strikes, his muscles twitched unconsciously along with their movements. 

The change was so slow at first that he didn’t notice until the people practicing paused what they were doing and looked around apprehensively. He stopped what he was doing, a sausage slice half way to his mouth, and leaned further out. People were standing around confusedly, bathed in twilight even though it was only just past the lunch hour. Suddenly people were pointing up and yelling. Some ran inside in a furious panic. At least one of his friends fell to his knees and started praying. Lark couldn’t see what they were pointing at from his current window, but a shivery feeling in his chest told him that something was very wrong. He jumped from the windowsill and ran down the hall on the fastest route outside. He burst through a side door to the practice grounds, the bag of food swinging forgotten from his hands. As soon as he was clear of the shadow of the wall, he turned to look where everyone had pointed. 

His breath caught in his chest and his brain struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. The embodiment of his beloved goddess was half covered by a dark shape. He struggled with the sight because he knew, intimately after his studies, that there was no eclipse today. 

The distant sound of screams pierced his focus. His first instinct was to run inside to see what caused them, but a voice that sounded a bit too much like Armsmaster Tyrendel suggested that he run inside the nearby salle. His steps echoed on the wood floors of the abandoned building. Practice weapons and gear were strewn halfhazardly around the room, seemingly dropped right where they were when the panic started. He slid to a stop near an armor stand and shrugged into some studded leather. He grabbed one of the iron swords that more advanced students used and charged back through the salle door, across the grounds, and back into the halls. 

He desperately wanted to locate his family, but he’d been trying to do that all morning. There was no way he’d manage it now. He turned his feet towards the tower where Master Gangrenge’s study was. He’d been worried about the sky for days, and now the sun was being blotted out by something unnatural. If anyone knew the answer, it would be Master Gangrenge. 

He skidded around a tight corned and fan full force into one of the servant girls who cleaned this hallway. He stopped, his breath burning in his chest from the run, and pulled her to her feet. 

“Savannah! What’s happening!” He demanded. 

She stared at him with dilated pupils. “There are men inside. Everywhere. Men with black spirals on their faces! They’re killing anyone. Everyone.” She shoved him and sprinted down the hallway calling over her shoulder “Run Master Lark!” 

He ran, but in the opposite direction. It was in his blood. Whenever there was trouble, instead of fleeing it, he must run towards it. 

He took the tower stairs two at a time, “Master Gangrenge!” He called out when he reached the top. “Master Gangrenge!” He braced his hands on his knees for a quick moment. His breath rasped. He reflected momentarily that he had spent too much time in the library, and not enough with the Armsmaster. 

When he’d caught some of his breath, he burst through the door. 

His master’s precious books were splattered with blood. The tang of it assaulted his nose. He frantically looked around. There, crumpled in the corner, was his master. Standing over him was a man. Draped in red robes, he turned to look at Lark, the black spiral on his face gave it a haunted look. 

Lark felt rage built up inside of him. He screamed, the sound tearing at his throat, and he charged the man whose scimitar dripped with his master’s blood. His heart hammered in his ears, making him deaf to Master Gangrenge’s quiet pleas that he run. 

The man with the spiraled face raised his scimitar in a block at the last second and the swords clashed with a spray of sparks. Rage fueled him as Lark struck the man. The stranger stepped backwards and clutched his scimitar awkwardly in both hands. It didn’t take long for Lark to realize that he faced a man with very little sword skill. 

“How does it feel to face a real swordsman!?” He cried as he came in low and sliced the man’s upper thigh. Lark wasn’t some 80 year old man, he was a man in his prime and this stranger who wounded his Master was about to learn the difference intimately. 

Their swords clashed again. Their heaving breaths the only sound. Master Gangrenge lay still in the corner. The man in red with the spiral face stepped in and made a slice at Lark’s ribs. Lark tried to dodge out of the way, but the blood on the wood floor betrayed him and he slid to his knee. He got his sword up at the last second and deflected the stranger’s attack. But the force of it left a notch in Lark’s sword. It was only a basic metal practice sword, meant more for giving students a feel for the weight of a real sword. 

Lark allowed himself to worry for a half a second, but that was all. He scrambled to his feet and the embattled men circled each other, looking for a weakness. 

Armsmaster Tyrendel’s words echoed in his mind and he watched his enemy’s torso in order to predict his next move. So, he knew when the man made the decision to move, but he wasn’t expecting him to release his right hand from the hilt and point his palm at him. Lark had a brief second to realize he was fighting a magic user before a magic missile sailed like lightning between them and he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his left shoulder. He staggered back from the impact, his left arm hung useless at his side. 

Thankfully, Armsmaster Tyrendel had drilled him for this. He pushed the pain to the back of his mind and shifted his grip on his short sword so he could wield it better. With his left arm out, he knew he would have to end this fight soon or the man with the spiraled face would win. A strange calm descended over him. He’d heard the men in the garrison talk about a ‘battle calm’ before, but he’d never experienced it. 

With the eeiry calm he was able to analyze the situation. He noticed the long hardwood table behind the man and he slowly built a plan. With a breath for stability, he raised his sword and advanced. His goal wasn’t to injure the man, just to drive him backward. Slowly, he saw that it worked. Sweat streamed down his face, and the pain from his shoulder ached, but he persisted. The spiraled faced man took two steps backward, and fired another magic missile. But this time Lark was ready for it and managed to dodge. He eyed the table. He only needed to drive the stranger back one more step. 

With a cry that echoed from deep in his chest, he struck again, his sword flashing in the lamplight. One, two, three times their swords met. Lark’s sword struck the fourth time, and with a flash it shattered. But he had achieved his goal. The stranger’s feet tangled in the legs of the table and he stumbled, falling to the floor. His red-robed arms flailed as he tried to regain his feet and Lark saw his opening. He lunged in and plunged his broken half of a sword into the stranger’s neck. 

The man died quickly, but Lark didn’t pay him any attention. He only had eyes for Master Gangrenge. He crossed the distance between them with quick steps and fell to his knees. He pressed his hand against the wound in his master’s side. Faintly he remembered reading that pressure on a wound would slow the bleeding. But his master had already lost so much. 

“Master?” He croaked, his voice raw. His heart sank at the blood all over his master’s fine clothes. 

Master Gangrenge’s eyelids fluttered, and Lark’s heart leapt. He looked up at Lark with unfocused eyes. “Lark?” His voice was whispy and difficult to hear. 

Lark leaned in closer, “master, hold on. I’ll get something to help.” He looked frantically around the room for anything that could help. 

He felt his master’s hand on his cheek, he looked down into his stormy grey eyes. 

Master Gangrenge’s voice was surprisingly strong. “Leave me, Lark. There are too many cultists for you to fight. You need to get away.” 

Lark could feel tears starting in his eyes, and he shook his head silently, unable to speak through his emotions. 

Master Gangrenge seemed to understand. He patted Lark’s cheek twice, then pointed towards his desk. “On my desk, there’s a gem.” He gasped and his face screwed up in pain. Lark’s tears fell unhindered now. “Take the gem, Lark. Guard it. It’ll keep you safe.” Master Gangrenge seemed to look at something over Lark’s shoulder, then his eyes refocused on his face. “Yes, it’ll keep you safe Lark. Take it and run. Don’t stop running. Asta Zura is gone.” A tear gathered at the corner of Master Gangrenge’s eye, but never fell. Master Gangrenge’s eyes closed, his tears unspilled. 

Lark cried enough for th both of them as he climbed to his feet. The whole is his heart made it hard to breathe, but he knew he didn’t have any time. Where there was one cultist, there would be others. Numbly he walked to the desk and rifled through the drawers he’d never been allowed to open. Nestled on a pillow in the back of one of the drawers was the gem. It glimmered opalescent greens and blues. Roughly the side of his thumbnail, when he picked it up it weighed much more than he expected. But he didn’t have time to think about that. He pocketed it, and crossed the room to the cultist’s body. He searched the body as quickly as he could. He had regained some function in his left hand, but it rippled with pins and needles and was just about useless. He found a bottle he recognized as a potion of cure light wounds, and he quaffed it after a regretful look at his Master. Maybe if he’d given it to him in time... but he couldn’t think about that now. 

He pushed the pain away and picked up the cultist’s scimitar. He would need a weapon of some kind. All he had was the armor on his body, the sword in his hand, and the gem in his pocket. 

The order from the man who was closer than his father rang in his ears. Lark sheathed the scimitar and ran. Down the stairs, through a side door, and as far as he could. 

The dark red light of the blocked sun lit his path while over his shoulder a blood moon rose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lark escapes the city only to run straight into more trouble. Monsters and zombies roam the lands outside of the city now. His only hope lies with a ragtag bunch of leftover military who have made an encampment nearby. Lark desperately needs the safety they offer from the monsters, but if they were to learn his true identity, he could lose what little of his life he has left.

Lark ran until the sky darkened. It never quite became true night, but the stars in the sky became brighter. He spent the night in an abandoned barn. Not the kind that are rickety and falling apart. No, it was a great barn. The loft was full of hay which made a nice warm bed for him when he couldn’t keep going. He could see a two story house a few lengths away, but no lights were burning in the windows. The scent of horse was strong in the barn, but there was no horse to be found. The only thing Lark could surmise was that the owners had heard of the attack on the city and fled in fear. 

He thought back on the city in chaos. After he had crossed the wall and entered the city itself, he’d had to dodge rioters and people panicked and crying in the streets. He was guilty of looting himself. He cast a glance at the backpack with blanket, canteen, and basic supplies. He had come across a general store on one of the back streets that was abandoned, but as yet unlooted. He had cried even as he broke the window to unlock the door to let him in. Inwardly, he promised he’d repay the owner if he ever had the opportunity. But he knew, logically, that it would probably never happen. 

He slept that night with the hay piled all around until only his nose was free, just in case someone else decided the barn would be a great place to spend the night. His sleep was fretful, but he woke rested. 

When he glanced out of the window in the loft, he couldn’t tell what time it was. A dark shape still covered the sun, leaving the world in a perpetual twilight. He could tell that it was ‘day’ because the twilight was lighter than it had been when he’d gone to sleep. But there was no way to tell how far into the day it was. 

He extricated his backpack from under the hay where he’d hidden it and descended into the lower part of the barn. The side door to the barn opened easily, a sign of the care the family had put into it. Lark sent a prayer to Asta Zura that they were okay. 

He scanned the fields, but there didn’t seem to be any activity. He waited another few minutes to be sure, then darted across the distance between the barn and the house. 

When he reached the house, he circled it, looking for the best way in. All of the windows on the lower floor were busted. When he looked closely, there were dried drops of blood on the frame. He whipped around and crouched low, looking all around him for the source of the blood, but there wasn’t anything in the surrounding area that he could see. 

Keeping low, he slunk to the back foot and cracked it open. When he didn’t hear anything or see anything through the crack in the door, he stepped inside. 

He was far from home and very unsupplied. The guilt wracked him again, but he headed towards the kitchen. The family who called this farm their home must have evacuated, so his hopes weren’t high. 

The kitchen was lovely. It was rosewood and oak throughout, all gleaming clean. This was a kitchen that was obviously the center of the home. 

He expected the cupboards to be empty in preparation for the family fleeing to safety and was pleasantly surprised at the amount of food left in the pantry. He refilled his supplies, the bread and cheese from Mama Alma a distant memory. Soon his backpack was as well stocked as anyone on the run could hope for. 

He walked up the stairs where he found the master bedroom. Again the guilt twinged, but necessity required that he open the drawers and closets. Thankfully, it seems like the master of the house was roughly his size, so he was able to exchange his blood stained silk doublette for farming leathers and clothes that would stand up to a journey. 

He didn’t have a destination in mind, but Lark got the feeling that it would be quite some time before he ever saw home again. 

Once he was cleaned up as best as he could be, he sat on the bed for a minute and thought about his plan. As far as he knew he was several hours from the city. He was pretty sure he’d traveled southeast, meaning he was probably close to Thackerville. He marveled that his much despised geography lessons actually helped him. 

 

The thought of home and all he had lost combined with his current sense of safety and he couldn’t stay strong any longer. With a wracking cry, he dropped his face into his hands and cried in a way he hadn’t cried ever in his rather pampered life. His sobs caught in his chest and his nose stopped up. When it started getting hard to breathe through the sobs, he took deep breaths to slowly calm it down. A few minutes later, he sniffled a few times and was done. With heavy limbs he walked across the room and grabbed a handkerchief out of the chest of drawers and blew his nose. Tucking the handkerchief in his pocket, he wiped his face and shook his muscles out. He picked up his backpack and shrugged it over his shoulders. 

 

He stepped back out into the upper hallway, making his way towards the stairs when a sound from the ground floor had him freezing in his steps. Once he was still, he could distinctly hear the sound of footsteps on the first floor. His heart hammered as he thought about his backpack full of stolen goods. What if it he was wrong and the family hadn’t fled? What if it was someone else on the running raiding the cupboards for supplies? He checked his belt and reassured himself that the scimitar and two daggers he’d found in the house were securely fastened. He put his back to the wall and peaked down the stairs.

 

At first all he saw was the foyer, as quiet and uninhabited as it had been when he went upstairs. He waited patiently, sure he’d heard footsteps. Several minutes passed while sweat trickled down his back, his nerves strung taught. About the time he started to wonder if he had misheard earlier, the sound of slow footsteps echoed up the stairs. It sounded as if someone was ambling around the lower level. It didn’t seem to fit with either of the theories that Lark had about who was down there. Even so, he still couldn’t see a thing. 

He decided to take a risk and carefully stepped down the first few stairs as quietly as he could. When he could see the rest of the foyer and into a portion of the family room, he stopped and waited again, keeping his eyes peeled for movement. 

The steps sounded again and he turned his head to look back into the living room. He saw a humanoid shape walk slowly across the room and look out of the window. In sillhouette, it looked like it was possibly a man. Lark decided it was time to leave. He slunk down the rest of the stairs, keeping his eye on the sillhouette in the family room. The foyer had two other exits, one into the well-loved kitchen and one into a hallway where he’d found some bedrooms for children earlier. He glanced down the hallway, but didn’t see anything. 

 

Keeping his back to the wall, he inched his way towards the door. The door to the kitchen was his last ostacle. He checked the family room again with a glance, but he couldn’t see the figure anymore. He took a deep breath and looked quickly into the kitchen. He expected it to be empty. He was wrong. 

His quick glance found him face to face with an older woman. She stared awkwardly at Lark, her eyes glassy and her face pale. A shiver of warning tremored up Lark’s spine. He took a few slow steps backwards. With the distance, more details about her appearance became apparent. The most obvious of which was her lack of a right arm. He stared at the broken bone where is protruded through the meaty flesh. Her arm ended half way down her bicep, where apparently the rest had been ripped away violently. Yet, she stood there in her apron with a pot of tea in her other hand. 

Horror crept over him as Lark realized the older woman wasn’t breathing anymore either. 

He could feel his face pale and break out in a cold sweat. The zombie must have been fairly recent since it stared at him, head cocked to the side, as if trying to decide if she should offer him a cup of tea or if she should try to eat him. He decided to make the decision for her and sidestepped the door, moving quickly towards the front door. Her head turned slowly as she tracked his movement. 

His chest burned and he realized he was holding his breath out of fear. He let it out slowly and quietly. The zombie seemed to be staying where she was. For a brief moment, everything was still. 

Then the zombie woman screamed. 

Lark startled, turned, and wrenched open the front door. Only to come face to face with a zombie who was probably the woman’s oldest son. He stood even in height with Lark and except for the fact that half of his face was missing, he probably would have been the same age. Lark took a step back and behind him he heard another scream, this one deeper in tone. A quick glance behind him showed the sillhouette from the family was the father and master of the house. 

Surrounded, Lark made a desperate leap through the window beside the door, the wood crunching with the impact. Most of the glass was already broken, probably during the attack that turned this lovely farming family into zombies. He hit the front porch with a roll, bounced to his feet, and took off running down the road. He reflected as he ran that he’d done more running in these 24 hours than he had since Master Gangrenge started taking all of his time. 

When he could no longer see the house when he glanced over his shoulder, and there was no sign of pursuit, he changed his headlong rush into a trot and eventually a walk as he cooled down. He pressed his hand to the stitch in his ribs, the sound of his panting breath all that could be heard. 

The red light of sunset surrounded him ominously, making what could have been a pleasant walk down a country lane seem agonizing. Now that he knew there were zombies out, he couldn’t allow himself to relax. He kept his eyes and ears open and scanned the countryside. 

When he came to a road sign saying he was just a few miles from Thackerville, he didn’t know if he should feel relieved that he was almost to a town that should be able to offer him shelter for the night, or if he should worry about a village full of zombies. There was no way to know until he arrived, so he walked on toward the village. 

He was relieved to see smoke rising from chimneys when the village finally came into view. There were also people walking about the streets on their daily business. The road slowly filled with people headed toward the village. Mostly carts baring people and belongings as the remote families moved into the town for the protection of more people. He heard gossip about fires in the capital city, and the attack from cultists draped in red with black spirals on their faces. No one seemed to know where they came from or who they worshipped. 

He was walking by one small family who were walking along the side of the road. The father of the family was hobbling with a crutch and the oldest son was pushing a handcart. Eveyone except the father had backpacks full of belongings. Their voices wafted over to him. 

The son, in his late teens, was talking quickly, “Do you think it’s true dad? What that messenger said? Is it true the whole family has been killed?” 

The father shook his grizzled head and cast his eyes skyward, “With Asta Zura gone, boy, anything is possible. What is the world coming to?”

The younger daughter looked up at her mother, “What’s going to happen now that the royal family is dead mom?”

Lark stumbled across the rutted street as his mind reeled in surprise. The royal family was dead? All of them? 

He quick stepped to catch up to the family. 

The father was admonishing his family, “We don’t know that for sure. We have to keep the faith. We have to believe that someone got out. We have to keep believing in Asta Zura, may her light shine upon us again some day.” He patted his oldest son on the shoulder, “i’m certain that even in her time of distress,” he pointed upward at the sky with a tilt of his chin, “She will not forget her people here in this realm. I’m certain She has found a way to protect a leader for our people.” He sighed gustily, “it is true we may see the end of our current ruling family, but our beloved Asta Zura, bringer of life, will provide us with some leader. I’m sure of it.”

Lark slowed his steps and let the family move ahead of him. He turned his gaze skyward and looked directly at the black face of the sun. The rim of fire that surrounded the sphere of darkness was all that remained of the beloved symbol of his goddess Asta Zura. The red light that covered the world was the best she could offer her children. He hoped the old man was right. He hoped that even as she fought whatever covered her face from them, that she was able to protect a leader for their kingdom. Even an insignificant younger son could become a leader if need be. 

He looked around at the people he walked with. The young and the old intermingled with the rich and the poor. All walks of life were represented on that road as everyone sought safety. If even one member of the royal family lived, then the people deserved a leader. Hopefully he would survive the hardships that were ahead of everyone now that the sun was dark. 

Lark could only hope. 

Finally, he approached the walls of the town. It was a good safe haven for the people in the region. A trading village, it was surrounded by solid wooden walls. Four strong young men of the village, an odd mix of soldiers and farmer’s sons, guarded the gates. Their gaze overlooked the newcomers, focusing primarily on the woods to the sides of the road. Deep scratches and cuts in the wood wall showed where something had tried to get inside. Lark though of the family of zombies and shivered. He was glad when passed through the open gate. 

Once inside, he was momentarily lost for where to go next. He though about trying to talk to the city council, but they were probably already well informed of the dangers that now lurked outside of their walls. Everywhere he looked, people cowered. Married couples shared worried glances while they reassured their children. The streets were bursting with people. 

He finally decided to visit a tavern. He’d heard his father say once that everything was discussed in a tavern. Often town criers carrying the news of the kingdom would go to taverns before the city hall. 

He wandered for about half an hour before he found his first tavern. A sign over the door proclaimed it was the Moon Lilly tavern. When he walked inside, almost every chair was full and the tavern keeper was doing quick business refilling ale mugs. Even though it looked to be a busy tavern, there was an eerie and tense silence that permeated the room. Some whispers of conversation could be heard, but most stared forlornly into their mugs. 

When he looked closer, it appeared that most of the men and women were local soldiers or police. A certain commonality in uniform along with a sense of familiarity told him so. He sidled around the room, looking for a place to sit and rest his tired feet. Some of the more alert patrons followed him with their eyes, giving Lark a distinct feeling of unwelcome. 

The tavern keeper and his waiters didn’t seem to feel the same though since he was approached with a mug and a plate of stew before he could even sit down. Before he could protest his inability to pay, he was forcefully guided to an empty spot at one of the smaller tables and the waiter was gone. Lark was left with a plate of delicious stew, two rolls of wheat bread, and a good sized mug of pale ale. 

Lark blinked in astonishment, then fell on his food. It was the first hot meal he’d eaten since the bread in Mama Alma’s kitchen. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he took a bite of the bread, he hoped she got out. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if he lost Master Gangrenge and Mama Alma too. He sniffled, wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, and looked around the table. 

To his left sat a young man, probably a few years younger than himself. Fresh faced, he probably shaved every day out of hope that it would cause his beard to grow. The young man stared into the distance with blank eyes. A look Armsmaster Tyrendel had called shocked. He ate his food mechanically, as if he knew he needed the nourishment, but wasn’t experiencing hunger. 

To his right sat an older man, he was balding in patches. His hair was cut short to minimize the damage, but it was still noticeable. His arms bulged with muscle and he ate with the quick efficiency of someone who often didn’t get much time to eat. He watched Lark closely, assessing his strengths and weaknesses, evaluating him as a threat. Lark leaned a little away from him. 

Across the table sat two women. The one with dark skin ate quickly like the man to Lark’s right, but her eyes roamed the room, watching the other soldiers. Lark was certain they were soldiers now. The posture and unity proved it. 

The other woman noticed him looking around, leaned forward and spoke in a surprisingly lilting voice, “Greetings stranger. So, what’s your story?”

Lark looked back at her, then down at his plate. He didn’t want everyone to know who he was. Not after everything that had happened. He just wanted to be ‘normal’. So the question became ‘How to tell his story as truthfully as possible while also concealing the truth?’ 

He cleared his throat and took a sip of his ale, “I came from the city.” Every eye at their small table turned to look at him, even the man to his left. 

He cleared his throat again, all of those eyes on him made him nervous. “I was there when... when it happened.” 

The woman leaned even closer, “where boy! Be more specific when you report.” She frowned at him. 

Did they think he was a soldier? He looked around quickly, comparing his clothes to theirs. Based on armor and weapons alone, he guessed he did look like he was a soldier. He didn’t want to lie to them, but perhaps it was best to play the part. “Yes, ma’am.” 

He relfexively looked down at his plate, then back at her. “I was in the castle.” 

The sharp inhale of their breath was unnerving, he fiddled with the food he hadn’t eaten. “I was running messages,” as a lie, it wasn’t too far from the truth, “I was taking my noon meal when the sun went dark.” They all nodded along as he spoke. 

“When everyone started to panic, I tried to find my... commander” the memory of Master Gangrenge flashed unbidden before his eyes and he had to blink hard a few times to clear his vision. “But when I got there he’d been slain,” his voice cracked, so he took another sip of ale. “I managed to kill the damned cultist who’d killed him though.” 

Lark couldn’t see it, but his face hardened and his gaze sharpened when he said that. The others at the table recognized it as the look of someone who was still processing his first kill. Not one of them said anything, but they pitied him. 

Lark continued, clueless to their sympathy. “With him gone... I... didn’t know what to do.” He glanced guiltily down, thinking that if he had truly been part of the soldiers defending the castle, he would have stayed to protect the royal family. If he had, maybe they wouldn’t be dead. 

He cleared his throat again, “When the attackers breached the throne room... I... I carry messages. I thought I’d carry word to one of the garrisons in town.” The lie flowed well, carrying just enough truth to be believable. “But they were all gone.” He glanced around the table, “I didn’t know what to do so I just... left.” He stared sightlessly at the table, absently following the wood grain with his eyes. “I... everyone I know is dead.” When he said it, he realized it was true. If the royal family really was dead, then he was truly alone. Mama Alma and Master Gangrenge didn’t have the same level of protection as the royals, and if the royals were gone... He put his head in his hands and fought hard not to cry in front of these tough soldiers. 

No one said anything for several long minutes, giving him time to compose himself. Lark felt a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, he looked up in surprise at 

he looked up in surprise at the older man to his right. The man gave him a nod and squeezed his shoulder before releasing his grip.

 

The woman spoke up again, her voice sympathetic but hard, “How did you get here?”

 

This one was easier, Lark took a shaky breath. “I ran until I fell down. Then I just followed the crowds.” he half shrugged.

 

She nodded, “I'm Major Halloway of the 54th infantry.” she pointed to the woman next to her, “This is Staff Sergeant Jones,” the finger moved to the man on Lark’s right, “Sergeant McDuff,” it moved again, “Private private first class Harrison.” She pointed at him with a jut of her chin, “What's yours?”

 

He thought about it for a moment and decided to keep it as close to the truth as he could, “I'm Lark, Lark Hayward, I'm a messenger.” He didn't know what rank a messenger would have, so he left it out and just hoped they would assume it.

 

She rapped the table with her knuckles. “We’re all from different battalions. Why don't you stay with us until we get orders?”

 

She phrased it as a question, but Lark knew it wasn't.

 

“yes,ma'am I think that would be for the best. ” it wasn't like he had any other plans.

 

Staff Sergeant Jones sighed gustily. “I'm not liking the feel of them Major.” She never took her eyes off of the other people in the tavern. “no one is even talking.”

 

The officers shared a glance. Sergeant McDuff leaned back in his chair, “my old battalion used to have this one joker, Stefan his name was. The Captain kept him around for times like these. That man was a pain in my arse but he could tell a story that would have every man in here rolling.”

 

The officers all nodded. Private Harrison blinked and spoke for the first time, his voice still a little too high. “I wish we had someone like that. I could use a distraction.”

 

Lark looked at the people at the table and thought back to the times he had told stories around the fireplace. He looked around at all of the anxious and depressed men and women. He didn't know if they would react to his storytelling the way his friends back home did, but… “I can try.”

The weight of their combined eyes settled on him.

 

“You think you could?” Major Halloway’s eyebrows frowned at him.

 

“they'll only love you if its great. The way they're feeling right now, they might turn on you. Still up for it?”

 

He glanced around again, wasn't it his duty now? To help everyone he could? Even if they hated it, it would get their minds off of the current state of his country. Besides, he shrugged and smirked, he was good at telling stories. Always had been.

 

He quirked that smile at the Major, “Yes ma’am, I am.” He rapped his knuckles on the table and stood up, the sudden motion caught the attention of everyone in the otherwise still room. He flashed a players grin at the crowd, before sauntering over to the standard open space by the fireplace meant for musicians.

 

He hooked a stool meant for a musician and planted himself on it. The crowd watched him expectantly. He held up his hands and shrugged “Now don’t let me take you from your conversations, I can tell they are gripping.” Most of the crowd blinked at him, but he could hear a few snorts. 

“My name is Lark Hayward, I’m new around here, and I wanna tell you about something that happened to me just before I got here.” He leaned back on the stool, “I had this one commanding officer, Captain Sycamore, and he was quite probably the most unpleasant man I’ve ever met in my life. He was the kind of Officer who would kick dust on your shoes, then make you do push-ups until your arms fell off because you happened to look at him funny.” He waved around the room, “you know the kind.”

He held up one finger, “now, I need you to remember Captain Sycamore.”

He leaned forward, “I had to take a message over to one of those petty lords, the ones who care more about their clothes than actually running their estates.” He stood up and mimed the peacock walk of one of the lords back home. It got some chuckles out of the crowd. 

“Well this lord was getting fitted for some new clothes,” he did a pirouette, fanning out the hem of his tunic like a dress, “and there was this absolutely gorgeous young woman there pinning his clothes. When I say she was gorgeous, I mean…” he pantomimed a well endowed chest, causing more chuckles. 

“When I relayed my message, the lord ran off to his office clad only in his skivvies,” his hands splayed across his chest and privates, “Which left me with…” he pantomimed the chest again, “Well, being a young man with… passions, I of course decided to make a move.” He tugged on his sleeves and collar and strutted across the stage area, bowing opulently to an imaginary woman, “‘Hello mistress, what’s a beautiful thing like you doing here?’” He waggled his eyebrows at the crowd. “She said,” he kicked his voice into a high falsetto “...‘why, getting into a lordlings pants of course!’” The crowd laughed. They were getting into his story now. 

“I said ‘well, you must be skilled indeed! What should I call a pretty young thing like yourself?’” 

He turned to the crowd, “Do you know what she said?” In his girl’s voice, “I’m Sylvia Sycamore, pleased to meet you!” He widened his eyes and stared into the crowd.   
“What am I supposed to say to that?” He turned to the imaginary woman, his voice cracking “Any relation to Captain Sycamore?” He turned back to the crowd, his voice loud, “She said YES. Apparently Captain Sycamore was her cousin!” 

He mimed a nervous shiver, “I admit, I was rather at a loss for words. This gorgeous piece of woman flesh was related to Captain Sycamore! Well, apparently it took me too long to come up with anything to say, because she said,” his voice kicked high again, “I can’t stand him either.” 

The crowd laughed. Their shoulders relaxed, a few leaned back in their chairs. He had them now. They had finally bought into his story, the believed in his ability to make them laugh. Now that they were expecting it, he could keep them rolling all night. He settled in for a long night of storytelling. 

An hour or so later, Staff Sergeant Jones ordered everyone to retire. Lark got a pats on the shoulder by the men and words of thanks and welcome. When they were all gone, he retrieved his bag from the officer’s table. It was fully dark now and the stress of the past few days was beginning to catch up to him. He swayed on his feet. At the direction of one of the waitresses, he tottered his way back over to fireplace and collapsed onto a pallet they had prepared for him. All around him, other soldiers were settling into their pallets until the floor was covered. For the first time since the sun was eaten and he lost everyone he’d ever known, he slept soundly.


	3. Chapter 3

Lark woke in the morning to the sound of the Sergeant waking everyone up. Probably the most unpleasant experience he’d had in his life. The Sergeant came bulling in and yelling. Lark watched blearily as the other soldiers jumped up, put on their boots, and rolled up their bedding. He did his best to follow suit. Having never formally been in the military, he was rather behind. Thankfully, the Sergeant gave him a break. He was the last one packed up, but there was still plenty of food. He sat himself at one of the tables and tucked into the meal provided by the tavern with the same gusto as the soldiers all around him.

After breakfast, he was labeled a Private First Class and grouped with several others. Then the whole lot of them quick marched out onto a field to the northeast of the gate he’d entered through the previous day. There, the newly formed company was set the task of establishing a defendable camp.

What followed was two days of the most intense work and training Lark had ever been required to do. He wasn’t used to being so low on the chain of command, and it took a long time and several rounds of push ups before he was able to control his knee-jerk reaction to being given an order.

By the second day, his life had regained a sense of routine. He was treated as just another one of the soldiers. He fulfilled the roll of messenger most of the time, taking letters back and forth between the Major and the Mayor of the town. He had worried at first about the monsters, but the Major had taken that into consideration when they established camp and had posted a strong watch shift. There were occasional skirmishes with corrupted animals and a zombie or two, but thankfully no casualties. He was allowed to attend many of the officers meetings once they determined that he could read, write, and figure. He was surprised to learn that it was a rare skill among the infantry.

The third day they gained a few squads of reinforcements that had been rerouted from a nearby fort. Lark was glad of it since it made the schedule for privy duty much longer. He escorted the reinforcements to their bivouac and then led their commanding officer to the command tent. The lieutenant was tall and willowy, a half elf, she watched him with sharp emerald green eyes, making him nervous.

She pulled him to a stop right before he could bow her into the command tent.

“What did you say your name was private?

He bowed slightly, “Lark Hayward, ma’am.”

She frowned, “have you been with this company long?”

He shook his head, “No ma’am, just a few days.” He glanced away, “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

She half smiled and gave him a knowing look, “I thought so.”

Her cryptic comment was disturbing, but he’d learned over the past few days that it wasn’t his place to question the officers. So he said nothing.

She seemed to make up her mind about something, “I met you once, before.”

He looked up in shock, a nervous sweat immediately breaking out all over his body. “I don’t remember you, ma’am.” Which was true, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her face before.

She nodded again, “I didn’t think you would remember me, but I remember you.” Her shrewd eyes looked him up and down. 

“It’s good to see you again Master Lark.” She bowed slightly, then turned and walked into the command tent, leaving Lark to stand outside aimlessly.

He ran his hand through his hair. He’d been building a new life for himself ever since arriving in this village. He had stuck to his story of being a messenger like a burr on a dog’s back, but if this commander recognized him, it could change everything.

He spent the rest of his duty shift in a haze, fearing every moment that someone would decry his real name from the city gates. But as time passed, he began to think that maybe the lieutenant would keep his identity to herself. He looked skyward at the sun that was still blocked, the red evening light covering everything, and he thanked Asta Zura for her protection even during her time of distress.

When he finally tumbled into his pallet that night, his dreams were turbulent and dark, full of anxiety.

The next morning dawned, if you could call it that, as bright as a sun in eclipse can be. When he woke, his first thoughts were about his anxious dreams, his second thought about the lieutenant and the third was about the shining bright pearl that laid right in front of his face, mere inches from his nose. His eyes crossed a little as he looked at it. He sat up groggily and picked up the pearl to look closer at it.

As soon as he touched it, he heard an older woman’s voice speaking inside of his head, “If you’re getting this message it means you are alive and good hearted. It’s been just days since the light has been taken. Our prayers went unanswered, our strongest heroes fell and now all that’s good in the world is being hunted and taken out one by one. The Followers of Calous reign supreme: the beast Nabysus has consumed the sun, the undead wander the land, twisted beasts have risen from the gates of hell, strong cultists have taken villages for their own--creating armies of the families that once lived there. Our royals have been murdered, there is no order. Our gods voices are but mere anguished whispers--even the strongest of our holy men and women cannot hear their words anymore. Evil has won this battle but the war is not over.

 

If you received this know that magic still exists in the world. Know that you are not alone. Know that we have the power to make change. Even in the darkest night there is light. If you can fight cast this pearl in flames, and head to Rykersville--I am in the clock tower. If you cannot...find food and clean water...find shelter, bury this pearl in earth. Once we gather enough heroes, we will be there soon…

 

We will fight back. We will triumph where others have failed. I am Teserana Moonscale, archmage of Rykersville, and this I vow."

With a snap, the message was cut-off. He shook his head blearily, his still waking mind struggling to process it. Then it clicked in his mind, there was a mage out there strong enough to direct a counterattack. Someone was willing to take charge and muster adventurers to take back the capital and free Asta Zura. He sprang up, dressed quickly, and double timed it over to the command tent. All around him the soldiers were buzzing as some woke up with pearls and some without. Those who heard the message puzzled over its meaning, those who didn’t fretted over it’s lack. Petty squabbling quickly echoed through the camp. Lark picked up his feet and moved faster.

When he arrived at the command tent, there was already a crowd of other like-minded soldiers who were seeking the Major’s advice. He shouldered through them mercilessly. Some cursed him, but most let him through knowing that he would probably be allowed inside where others were not. When he reached the front, he came face to face with some of the Major’s personal guard. Their faces were stony as they repeated that only a few would be admitted. Lark tried to slip past them, but one of the brawnier guards caught him. The man with dirty blonde hair pushed him hard on the shoulder, sending him reeling back into the crowd. The other soldiers held him up until he could get his feet back under him.

Rage burbled under his skin at the treatment. Logically, he tried to remind himself that he was a lowly Private First Class now. But it still rankled. He pushed forward again, when the blonde barbarian of a man went to push him again, Lark sidestepped him. “I am one of the Major’s personal secretaries and I carry messages. She will need me!” he told the brute.

The blonde just snorted, “Unless you’ve been summoned directly by the Major, you’re not getting through. Those are her orders.”

Inwardly, Lark cursed. Outwardly, “I’m certain she needs my assistance,” a glance at the man’s insignia, “sergeant. There are bound to be messages that need disseminating.”

The man blinked. Lark fought hard to contain his frustration. “Dissemination. Disbursing.” The man blinked again. Lark sighed, “She’ll need me to take messages to the Mayor. It’s literally my job.”

The man started to shake his head, Lark rushed on “It couldn’t hurt to ask!”

The brute refused to budge. No matter what else Lark tried to say, the guard just repeated that he wasn’t on the approved list. Lark felt a little like he’d been bounced from a tavern. He even considered telling the man who he was and why he should be listening to Lark, but he caught the urge and surpressed it. As frustrating as it had been, he liked being treated ‘normal’. The learning experience had been unpleasant at times, but worth it.

He gritted his teeth and glared down the guards, the pearl clutched tightly in his palm.

A few minutes later, after his anger had worked up to being nice and frothy, he heard behind him, “Make way for the Lieutenant! Make a hole!”

The crowd parted for the Lieutenant of the reinforcements who had joined them yesterday. Her willowy figure seemed to half float over the ground. Her eyes roved to take in the crowd outside of the tent. When she reached the front, she turned to address the crowd.

“Soldiers!” The frustrated growls tapered off as she seemed to expand and capture the attention of everyone. Even the guards were enthralled. Leadership and poise seemed to emanate from her body like light.

“Soldiers, I swear to you that you questions will be answered. Your worries will be allayed. I shall speak with the Major. Until then," her steely gaze swept over them all, "return to your duties. Your questions will be answered." The weight of her eyes left the crowd and the soldiers turned and walked back from whence they came, still mumbling but obeying. As she turned to go inside, Lark stepped forward, "Lieutenant!" he called.

The brute of a guard stood in his way, but Lark continued to side step him so that the Lieutenant could see him.

She looked over at his call, with a glance she assessed the situation. Lark could feel her evaluating him. He threw his shoulders back and stood with all of the authority he used to command. He met her gaze with his own. For a moment, no one moved. Then she nodded, slightly. "Guard," she called. The brute turned, "ma'am?"

She nodded in Lark's direction, "Let him pass. The major will have use of his skills."

The brute scowled darkly, but he knew an order when he saw one. He stepped aside, but only a little. Lark had to walk around him to get to the tent. The guard took the opportunity to slam his shoulder into Lark's. Pain blossomed in his shoulder and he gasped. He rounded on the guard with his fist raised. The guard bowed shortly, insincere apologies dripping from his lips.

Lark reigned in his anger. The Lieutenant was still watching, one eyebrow quirked. Lark lowered his fist and took deep calming breaths, tuning out the sarcastic tone of the guard's voice. When he felt more controlled, he turned and followed the Lieutenant into the tent.

The tent flap was a narrow opening, allowing only one at a time to pass. When he was inside, he looked around for his usual spot. The tent was a five cornered afair with a towering center post. Tapestries hung along the inside of the frame, warming the space in winter and pleasing the eyes. But also protecting the officers inside from assassins by blocking any shadows cast at night. A traveling desk and map stand was shoved into the corner. Standing around the room were all of the off-duty officers and most of those on duty as well. Discussions between them were serious, but carried on in muted voices to keep people on the outside of the tent from overhearing. 

One of the officers tried to protest Lark's inclusion, but the Lieutenant silenced him with a hand motion. The Lieutenant strode straight up to the major who was talking with the same group of officers that Lark had met when he first found himself with the company. The Lieutenant whispered something into the Major's ear. The Major nodded, then looked over and pointed Lark to his usual station among the secretaries. Jamie and Roland, the Major's personal secretaries, scooted their stools over and made room for him. He gave them both encouraging smiles. Jamie, the younger of the two returned it nervously. Roland, an older man simply harrumphed and went back to his copious note taking. Lark didn't take it amiss though, Roland was gruff all of the time.

A few more officers straggled in. When it seemed all were accounted for, the Major called the room to order. All eyes fell on her, she should just off to the center of the tent, allowing the other officers to form a circle around the outer edges of the tent. She looked around the room.

"How many of our company received the pearls?" she asked, her voice stern but calm.

The squad leaders called out rough estimates, Roland noted them down.

"Did they all receive the same message upon picking them up?"

The surrounding officers made affirmative sounds.

"Has any of the company been harmed by the pearls?"

Mostly negative answers met that question, though a few did mention that a few scuffles had broken out between those who received the pearls and those who did not. The Major frowned, "Is the division prominent enough to be a magical attack?" she asked, looking over at the company's few mages who were clustered in a corner.

The lead mage, Merdigan, shook his head, "Not that we can tell Ma'am, though if the magic is advanced enough, it may be beyond our knowing."

Lark remembered learning that although the company had three mages skilled in healing magic, they weren't capable of much more.

Major Halloway frowned, "Only minor injuries?" she looked at the commanders who had reported the scuffles. They nodded. "Then it may not be a magical attack, though we can't rule that out quite yet. Keep an eye on your soldiers and report any outbreaks of violence. We want to make sure this doesn't spread." Lark and the other secretaries noted the command.

"What do the recipients have in common?" she asked the room as a whole.

Voices called out, "Good soldiers" "responsible" "Kind" "polite" the compliments continued on for another few seconds. 

Major Halloway looked intrigued, "And those who did not receive a pearl? What do they have in common?"

A pause filled the tent, as all of the officers were unwilling to mention the negatives. Finally one of them spoke, "irresponsible"

Quickly, the others chimed in "cruel" "rude" "disgusting" "weak"

The Lieutenant spoke up, "Perhaps the pearls were sent to those who are inherently good?"

Some of the officers who had not received pearls themselves frowned.

Major Halloway nodded, "Possible," she conceded, "but as with the magical attack, we don't have enough information to rule it yet." She turned to the secretaries. "Compile a roster of those who received the pearls and those who didn't."

Jamie nodded and went over to the traveling desk to prepare just that.

Major Halloway looked back out at the grouped officers. "I suggest we confiscate the pearls for now. This could be a trick of the Netherbeast." Lark looked up from his notes, he hadn't heard of the Netherbeast before. "But in case it truly is an attempt to organize people with the right skills to reclaim the city, we should send out a scouting party to investigate what the message claimed."

Some of the officers frowned, others nodded along, but no one could fault the logic.

"Compile a list of your top choices from among your squads for the scouting party. Let's say... your top three. Then tonight we'll choose the group to go." She gestured to where Jamie was set up at the traveling desk, "Make sure to get your list of those who did and did not receive pearls to Jamie as soon as possible. Bring all confiscated pearls back here so we can keep them under guard."

She looked around the room, “Any other concerns?”

The officers shook their heads.

Major Halloway nodded crisply, “Dismissed.”

The officers turned and filed out of the door to go collect the information and pearls as Major Halloway had determined. Lark stayed where he was, finishing up his copy of the meeting’s notes. Out of the corner of his eye he noted Major Halloway and the Lieutenant discussing something, but he didn’t pay attention to it since he was focused on his task.

When he’d finished copying his notes from a secretary’s cipher to standard Common, he looked up and was surprised to see the Major and the Lieutenant both looking down at him. His heart leapt in his chest, scrutiny from the higher ranks is never a good thing.

Major Halloway looked him up and down, then turned to the Lieutenant. “Really? You’re sure?”

The Lieutenant nodded, “Yes ma’am. I would not forget a prince of the realm.”

The blood drained from his face. Frantically, he looked around the tent. When he saw he was alone with the two women, a sigh of relief flooded his system. But then he remembered what they had said.

He looked back at the Major, “I’m sorry, what?” He asked, feigning innocence.

The Lieutenant snorted ungracefully, surprising him. “I told you I remembered you.”

Lark scowled.

Major Halloway looked at him, “So it’s true? You really are a prince?”

Lark tried to think of a way to get out of this situation, he opened his mouth to try to bluff his way out when the Lieutenant spoke up again.

“Yes, he is Thaddeus Larkin Hayden Cavill, youngest son of their majesties King Edward and Queen Arabella.”

Lark stared at her, shock and disbelief strong in his mind, his voice was overly loud when he demanded of the Lieutenant “How do you know me?”

She quirked a smile at him, “We’ve met.”

Lark had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, “Yes, you’ve said that. But where? I don’t remember you!”

The Lieutenant shook her head sympathetically at him, “I knew you wouldn’t remember me. It was at the annual ceremony for recognizing outstanding service, just a few months ago. You were...” she paused, “not particularly thrilled to be included.”

Lark could barely remember the ceremony that she spoke of. He was often required to go to events that were not important to him. He focused and tried to remember anything about it, but all that came to him was a feeling of frustration and boredom. He looked back up at the two women and sighed. Etiquette demanded that he say, “I apologize for my failings.”

He was getting uncomfortable, sitting while the officers stood. He sidled out of his seat and bowed to them, then leaned his hip on the desk.

Major Halloway stared, “Huh.” She said, a nonplussed look on her face. “I never would have guessed.” She looked at the Lieutenant, “thank you for bringing this to my attention.” She turned back to him, “Your highness,”

Lark flinched.

“I think it is a good idea to continue hiding your identity. Therefore I’m going to have you moved into my personal staff immediately.”

Lark scowled, he had made friends in his group and didn’t want people to think he was being favored.

The major continued on, “That way we can be sure of your safety at all times.”

“Now wait a minute!” Lark interjected. They looked surprised. He held up the pearl in his hand, “I got one of these too. I can’t just stay here where it’s safe.”

“Your highness...”

Lark cut them off with a quick cutting motion of his hand, “Before this moment, I was just Lark. I was perfectly happy with being just Lark Hayward. Being treated like a normal person and judged by my skills and abilities rather than my station has been the most freeing time of my life. I have learned more about my own strengths and weaknesses than I ever knew before. I can’t stand to be tethered here in this...” he gestured at the tent walls circling them, “canvas cage.”

The two women looked at him sympathetically. “Be that as it may,” said the Lieutenant, “You are the only member of the royal family we have left.”

Major Halloway chimed in “You may as well be King.”

Lark rocked back on his heels. He had come to accept through many tear-filled nights that his family was gone. But never had it crossed his mind that with everyone else dead, he was King.

The word bounced around his head, causing him to feel light-headed. In the back of his mind, he heard his father’s voice: The King is dead, long live the King.

The ground rushed up to meet him as darkness consumed his mind and he fell limp to the floor.

Lark woke some time later to the sound of hushed voices. When he opened his eyes, he found he was still in the command tent. He’d been bustled into a pallet in the corner. His belongings sat next to him, haphazardly packed into the backpack he had stolen from the zombie farmer’s house. He sat up and looked over to where all of the highest officers were discussing who should be chosen for the scouting party. His own commanding officer Staff Sergeant Jones was arguing with the Major about her picks for the party. 

“He’s come a long way and I think he’ll be good for the party!” Staff Sergeant Jones argued. 

The Major scowled, “We are not sending him. I’ve made my opinion on that issue clear.” 

Jones threw her hands up, “Yes you have, but my question is WHY. Lark is good!” A few of the other officers nodded along. 

The Major slammed her hand on the table, “I have my reasons Staff Sergeant!” The room became absolutely silent. She took a deep breath through her nose. “I understand why you support him. I am not arguing his capabilities. But remember that I have access to more information than you and trust that I am making the best decisions for the company and for Lark.” 

Staff Sergeant Jones bowed her head, defeat evident in the set of her shoulders. 

Lark found himself filled with a confusing mixture of pride that his commander valued his skills enough to stand up for him, and frustration that the Major was still determined to keep him here. 

The conversation turned back to the other people that were going. Lark tuned it out, listening only for his name or anything related to him. 

He wrapped his arms around his knees and thought about his position. Logically, the Major was right. As possibly the new King, he needed to stay somewhere he could keep himself safe. But he had been speaking from the heart earlier when he said that he had felt truly free ever since he had hidden his royal blood. The requirements and expectations for a prince were restricting. Even for the youngest in the family. He thought back on Master Gangrenge who had spent so much time ensuring that he was well educated, when all Lark had wanted was to escape the merciless reach of Armsmaster Tyrendel. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the gemstone that Master Gangrenge had told him to take. It’s shining opalescence was comforting. He rolled it around his palm and fingers while he thought. 

Before the sun was eaten, he had lived a life of luxury. These last few days had led to growth and understanding in ways he never would have had before as a prince. If he returned to that lifestyle now, it could be a disservice to his future subjects. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a king who knew what it meant to pull guard duty? Who knew what it felt like to go hungry? A king who would truly appreciate the services rendered in his name. He thought back to his father who tried his best to understand what those who worked for him sacrificed, but who still lacked the perspective to truly understand. 

He grabbed his bag and checked it’s contents. It would be better for his subjects if he knew more about life as a person, instead of life as a prince. And they deserved for him to work towards restoring their lives to the way they were before the sun’s captivity. Yes, he was willing to work and to sacrifice to restore the sun and his people’s lives. He looked over to where the major was deep in discussion with the officers. He would not stay here as a figure head, unable to make a contribution to the well being of his people. 

He stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, then as quietly as he could he edged around the tent and out the door. He glanced over his shoulder as he passed through and caught the eyes of the beautiful half-elf Lieutenant. She met his gaze, then nodded slowly and deeply. 

Lark nodded to her in return, a half-bow that recognized her silence. Then he turned and disappeared into the darkness, slipping through the guard. He turned north and headed for Rykersville.


End file.
